Roses do kill… P1

The wind was screaming down her ears. Her jet black hair whipped across her face. She struggled to hold them inside her hoodie. She had just brought the news paper and opened the first page. Her eyes opened wide…pupils dilated…the murder…it was grotesque. The body of a lean and handsome boy, about 17 lay in the garden and he appeared to hold a bonquet of 7 ripe red roses in his hands.

But the shocking part was, that his bunch of roses covered the huge gaping hole in his once smooth belly….and on his forehead was branded the word “TRAITOR”. Where his forehead was or where it should be, was covered by red burnt skin that looked like the glazed skin of a barbecued chicken.She grabbed the paper and rushed inside. She made herself a strong cup of coffee and switched on the television. The weather was too cold…the thermometer on the wall read 16 degrees. Too cold for a long jog. All she could do was wrap herself around with a thick Kashmiri floral shawl and warm herself over a cup of coffee as she curled over on the sofa. She fumbled through the channels. The news channels were playing the same murder over and over again. The reporter was telling over his mike that the name of the victim was held under wraps and would be revealed shortly. The people living nearby mused, that it was a horrible day for murder with the desolate fog threatening to kill all happy emotions, much like the Dementors in Harry Potter.

She took a long sip of coffee and gave an all knowing smile. Well ,she thought to herself , ‘ his forehead wasn’t very cold when she branded his forehead…

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